


love comes in at the eye

by prettydizzeed



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Asexuality, M/M, Maia is a main character in the show and in this fic, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: The first time he asks Raphael out, Raphael scoffs. “Trying to get in good with the clan leader again?”And okay, that's fair. Petty, but fair, which pretty much sums up Raphael and is why Meliorn likes him, anyway, so he gives his best cryptic smile and politely backs off.For a few months.





	love comes in at the eye

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from the poem Maia and Meliorn reference later in the fic, "A Drinking Song" by William Butler Yeats:
> 
> Wine comes in at the mouth  
> And love comes in at the eye;  
> That’s all we shall know for truth  
> Before we grow old and die.  
> I lift the glass to my mouth,  
> I look at you, and I sigh.

The first time he asks Raphael out, Raphael scoffs. “Trying to get in good with the clan leader again?”

And okay, that's fair. Petty, but fair, which pretty much sums up Raphael and is why Meliorn likes him, anyway, so he gives his best cryptic smile and politely backs off.

For a few months.

 

He was planning to try again at the Downworld council meeting or whatever this is, now that Raphael’s secure enough in his leadership to consider that Meliorn might not mean this as a political move, but then someone asks about his scars and he can smell Isabelle’s perfume and, well. He can be fucking petty, too.

(He knows Luke can smell it, too, it's not like Meliorn is the one with enhanced olfaction, but Luke has yet to shake his Shadowhunter manners, trained to nod placidly to someone's face and then gossip behind their backs. Or maybe he does it because at least one of them has to pretend to be calm. Meliorn prefers a direct route.)

Even as he calls them out on their biases, he knows that accusations like this are why they call him combative, but he showed up here in full armor, so they shouldn't have expected any less. He also knows, as he proposes assassination (a term which, honestly, suggests Clary Fairchild is far more important that she is), that later tonight, Magnus will wave around a drink and call him a radical, and that in a few days, Luke will appear at his door to reason with him in soothing tones, no matter what either of them may say now.

He isn't sure what Raphael will do. He can picture Camille, agreeing eagerly, then trying to bite Clary Fairchild or something equally poorly thought out, no regards for the rest of them or the clan she claimed to protect, but he doesn't know what to expect from Raphael. He's not used to being unable to predict someone. It's almost a relief.

 

The second time he asks Raphael out, it's right after Raphael says not to believe anything he says. Isabelle is trying to vouch for him as if he remotely cares about her opinion, and he looks over her head at Raphael and says, “Would you believe me if I said I like you?”

The corner of Raphael's mouth twitches. “I don't know. Hard to predict what my reaction would be in the moment.” He raises an eyebrow, and Meliorn smiles.

“I like you.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I don't know, there are multiple meanings of the word _like_ , so it's still very possible that you're twisting things.” He's almost smirking. Meliorn does not trust his tongue to keep from telling the truth of what he's thinking, so he’s a beat late in his response.

“You could give me a chance to prove it to you.”

Raphael laughs and looks away. He is late by more than a beat.

“I don't think I'm interested in any of the methods by which you'd go about doing that.”

He sees the flinch Isabelle tries to suppress at that, registers how her body is screaming guilt and stubbornness and the constant righteous certainty with which she was raised, and nods.

“My apologies. I do not want to pressure you; that was not my intention.”

He sees the exact moment when Raphael registers that he cannot be lying.

 

The third time he asks Raphael out—or tries to, anyway—it goes marginally better. He is very deliberately avoiding whatever Shadowhunter bullshit is afoot for the sake of his sanity, and is giving the Queen a wide berth for the sake of the rest of him, so he ends up escaping to the Hunter’s Moon.

“Wow,” Maia says while she pours his drink, “two of my least frequent customers on the same night. Must be something in the air.” 

“More like the Clave is driving us to drink,” he says, glancing around to see who else she might be talking about. Maia nods in the direction of the back corner, where Raphael is sitting, glaring at the few drunk patrons who dare to stumble near his booth.

Meliorn walks up to him.

“May I sit with you?”

Raphael crosses his arms. “I will buy you a refill,” Meliorn offers.

Raphael tilts his head slightly, silent for a moment. “Alright,” he says, “but this” —he holds up his glass— “is top shelf, and this” —he gestures between them— “is not a date.”

Meliorn nods. “Understood.”

He takes Raphael's glass to Maia, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Y’know, I'm almost considering giving this to you on the house, because Lord knows you're gonna pay plenty for whatever bad idea this is.”

He does not look at Raphael, and he does not sigh, exactly, but his shoulders shift in a way she seems to understand. She rolls her eyes and slides the glass forward.

“Half off,” she says. “But you'd better tip well when you're drowning your sorrows in a couple of hours.”

He smiles and thanks her without acknowledging the rest of her statement, pays, and makes his way back to the booth. 

“Thanks.” Raphael says it like he wasn't planning to speak.

Meliorn nods. “Maia said you haven't been here in a while.”

“Good.” Raphael is smirking. “Then you don't get to make it into a line.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know.” He leans forward across the table, tilting his head as he slowly looks at Meliorn's chest and up to his eyes. “You come here often?”

He holds it for a beat, just staring, eyebrows slightly raised, before he settles back against the booth and takes a sip of his drink. “That kind of shit.”

Meliorn laughs, and hopes it doesn't sound like he had to force the noise past the lump in his throat. “I have never really been one to borrow mundane techniques.”

“No,” Raphael says, mouth curving at the corner, “you use your genetic inability to lie to reveal your affections.”

“Do I get points for originality?” 

Raphael lets out a laugh, short and unexpected. “No.”

“Fair enough.”

He's overanalyzing every potential conversation topic—if he brings up politics, Raphael will again think this is some sort of ploy for power; they don't exactly have mutual friends, and he sure as hell isn’t about to mention Isabelle; he's fairly certain Raphael isn't interested in small talk, which is another reason he likes him—when Raphael drains his glass and stands up.

“Thanks for the drink, but I have some clan business to take care of.” He starts to walk off, then hesitates, turning around just past where the booth ends. Meliorn has to crane his neck to face him.

Raphael settles his hands in his pockets and smirks. “Maybe next time you won't need a bribe to sit with me.”

He leaves, and Meliorn collects his half-full glass and Raphael's empty one and moves to the bar. Maia's smirk is almost sympathetic.

He orders the oldest wine she has. It still doesn't taste familiar.

“‘Wine comes in at the mouth…’” Her gaze is a mix of pitying and amused. 

He lifts his glass and looks over the brim at her. “I believe the part about growing old and dying does not apply here, at least.”

She grins. “Not denying the part about love, though?”

“I look at him, and I sigh, that much is certain.”

She scans the room, seems to come to a conclusion, and walks around the bar to perch on the stool beside him. “We're not very busy right now. I might as well earn that massive tip you're going to leave.”

He gives her a questioning glance and she rolls her eyes. “Spill.”

“I believe I'm paying too much for this wine to waste it,” he responds, and she snorts.

“Can't blame me for taking advantage of the desperate. A girl’s gotta make a living somehow.”

He runs a finger over a ring stained into the wood. “And I am one of the desperate, I assume? Flattering. I can see why you need to make deals to get tips.”

He is not smiling as he says it, and his voice is not teasing, but she laughs anyway. It's refreshing, compared to the nervous glances that usually follow any time he opens his mouth.

“Yeah, you're desperate, Meliorn. You and everyone else in here.”

He looks around. Most booths are empty by now, but there are a few drunk werewolves, and a couple of Seelies… whom a Shadowhunter, one of the blonde ones, is trying unsuccessfully to flirt with.

He wrinkles his nose. “You're comparing me to _him_?”

Maia laughs again. “Okay, I'll admit, you have more class. But you're still up here drinking alone, which is exactly where he’ll be in about five minutes."

Meliorn makes a mental note to have left by then. “I'm not alone.”

“Right, the gracious bartender took pity on your lonely ass. That's a lot better.”

“Touché.” He swallows the last of his wine and traces the rim of the glass. “He managed to insult me and invite me to drink with him again at the same time.”

“And let me guess, you were totally into it?” He doesn't look at her, but he can tell she's grinning. “God, you two are perfect for each other.”

He's positive he doesn't sigh out loud, but she nudges him anyway. “Hey. You're perfect for each other because you're both stubborn assholes. He’ll come around, if only because you're the only ones who can stand to be around each other.”

Meliorn raises an eyebrow. “The only ones, hm? What does that make you?”

She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. “Okay, there might be a few other assholes who manage to put up with you.” She stands and moves back behind the bar, and he sees the Shadowhunter walking towards them out the corner of his eye. 

“I'm serious,” she says as Meliorn tips her as promised and stands to leave, “I've got a good feeling about this.”

He wishes he could say the same.

 

The first thing Raphael says when he sits beside Meliorn at the bar three weeks later is, “This still isn't a date.”

Meliorn can hear Maia's scoff.

He nods in understanding, though, and Raphael puts one elbow on the bar and orders a drink, then gestures at Meliorn's glass and adds, “And I’m paying for the refill of… whatever that is.” He makes a face.

“That,” Maia says, pouring Raphael's drink, “is wine so vintage, I'm pretty sure the grapes were in the Garden of Eden. It's crazy expensive.”

Raphael looks up at the ceiling. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.” 

“You were going for nice?” Maia asks, laughing. “Try harder.”

“I do not mind it,” Meliorn says, and Raphael gives him a look like _what do you mean my abrasive personality isn't pushing you away?_

Maia smirks. “Told you. Perfect.”

Meliorn shoots her a look, and she makes a face at him but focuses on her other customers until about an hour later, when Raphael leaves.

“Hate to break it to him, but that was totally a date.”

Meliorn shakes his head. “If he does not want it to be a date, then it is not.”

Maia crosses her arms. “You two were totally flirting. In, like, a bitter old man sort of way.”

“I am serious, Maia. I am not trying to coax him into a relationship he has no interest in being a part of. I just…” He grimaces, knowing what her reaction will be, but finishes anyway, “like being around him.” 

She cackles, as predicted. “Oh my _god_. Underneath that whole heartless warrior vibe, you, my friend, are a sap.”

“Oh, I am the sap? You are the one who just called us friends.”

“Yeah, well. If we aren't friends, I have no excuse to meddle.” 

He starts to protest, but she just calls, “Sorry, can't chat right now! Customers!” over her shoulder as she walks away, laughing.

 

The next time he sees Raphael in the Hunter’s Moon, Meliorn just exchanges a nod with him, because no matter what Maia says, he isn't desperate.

The time after that, though, he walks over. 

“I'm not about to owe you again,” Raphael says when Meliorn offers to buy him a drink. Meliorn nods stiffly and turns to go.

“But,” Raphael says, and Meliorn stops, “you can sit, if you want.”

He turns around. Raphael is smirking.

He sits.

“So how's the Seelie Queen doing?” Raphael asks once Meliorn has a drink. A few weeks ago, Meliorn probably would not have been able to tell he was teasing.

But he can tell, so he scoffs to hide his smile. “I do not ask you about Camille.”

Raphael shrugs. “Thought maybe you were building up to it.” He shifts, leaning back slightly. “Besides, I'm in charge now, so that's different. Unless there's something you aren't telling me.”

Meliorn laughs sharply. “Are you asking if I am planning a coup? Because I assure you, I know everyone thinks of me as an extremist, but I do not have a death wish.”

Raphael opens his mouth, then closes it without saying anything. Meliorn glances up and sees that he's looking at the scars on his face. 

Raphael changes the subject.

They talk about the Clave, and their favorite traditions from their cultures, and, in hushed tones when they're a few drinks in and can say later that they were drunk, the first time someone told them to kill. At one point, Raphael asks him to tell him about the sunset. It isn't the same, Raphael says, always watching it from an angle; the fear makes it hard to focus on the beauty. Meliorn tries not to think about the way Raphael is looking at him. Like he's unbearably bright.

After just over an hour, Raphael clears his throat. “I have to go, but, um.” He's looking more at the wall than at Meliorn. “If you were to show up at around this time a week from now… I might not say it isn't a date.” Then he leaves without waiting for a response. 

Meliorn swallows. He is dangerously smitten.

 

Raphael isn't there when he shows up a week later. Meliorn very resolutely does not turn around every time the door opens.

He really wants to, though.

After about forty-five minutes, he tells himself that by “around this time,” Raphael must have meant when they were leaving, not when they started talking. After forty-five more minutes, he stops shaking his head when Maia asks if he wants a drink. 

“On the house,” she says, and he knows he's fucked.

 

It's midnight when Raphael walks into the bar, and Meliorn is really glad he isn't drunk. 

(“I have an image to maintain,” he'd said when Maia offered another refill. “I cannot allow anyone but you to know I am desperate.”)

Raphael braces his elbows on the bar. “Why are you still here?” he asks, sounding frustrated, but not exactly surprised. 

Meliorn suddenly wishes he did have a drink, actually, and does not look at him. “I am immortal. That is kind of how it works.”

“I mean, why are you _here_? Anyone who stands you up for this long is obviously an asshole.”

“Maybe I have a thing for assholes.” Meliorn doesn't look at him. 

Raphael scoffs. “Yeah, well, that's kind of why I stood you up.”

Meliorn looks at him, but tries to force the fondness out of his gaze first. “Was that an attempt at innuendo?”

Raphael’s scoff sounds more like a laugh, now. “See, no one but you would've gotten that.”

“What are you implying about my mind, exactly?” He hates how teasing his voice sounds even to his own ears. “Because I have been in the same room as Magnus for a while before—”

“I mean, not even Magnus knows me like that.” He’s grimacing like it hurts to say it. “He knows me a lot better than you do, yeah, but. That innate understanding…” He shrugs.

“I never said I wanted to have sex with you,” Meliorn says, because yes, he understands. 

“You didn't have to say it.” 

Meliorn bites back a bitter laugh. “Apparently I do.” He waits until Raphael looks at him again. “I do not want to have sex with you.”

The shock on Raphael’s face is almost startling. Despite everything they've told each other, this expression is the most he's ever shared.

“What?”

Meliorn sighs. “I like sex, generally, yes, and I like you, and I am not going to pretend I would not feel differently, were you to be interested. But you are not, and I am entirely uninterested in anything that would hurt you, or so much as pressure you.”

It's more than the most he's ever shared. The words are physically difficult to form, like he's forcing them through an open wound.

The cautious awe on Raphael’s face stitches him back together. 

Raphael presses his fingers into the bar like he’s trying to ground himself. “I know this isn’t the date you were expecting, but, if you want to…”

Meliorn sees Maia grinning out the corner of his eye.

“I just told you,” he says, and lets the corner of his mouth lift, “I have no expectations. I would love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @basilhallward and @downworldersdeservebetter, come say hi!


End file.
